


Post Script

by klaineanummel



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2013-12-11
Packaged: 2018-01-04 09:14:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1079202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klaineanummel/pseuds/klaineanummel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>I've written you letters. Not as many as I wanted, but probably more than you'll expect. Letters that'll be coming to you in all sorts of mysterious ways. Your first letter will be coming tomorrow. Please, do me a favor and don't try and figure out how I'm doing this. It's just too complex and it'll ruin everything. Just, sit back and let me take care of you for a little bit longer. You know how much I love doing that. </i>
</p><p>Several weeks after the unfortunate passing of his husband, Kurt Hummel-Anderson receives a letter from the beyond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Post Script

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: This is a P. S. I Love You AU. If you haven't read/watched P. S. I Love You this means that Blaine is dead for the entirety of this story.
> 
> Also, there is no supernatural ghost letter writing going on. Blaine wrote all the letters before he died. In case you're wondering.

_Beep_

“Hey, this is Blaine Hummel-Anderson. I'm not available at the moment, but if you leave your name and number I'll get back to you as soon as I can.”

_Beep_

“Hey, this is Blaine Hummel-Anderson. I'm not available at the moment, but if you leave your name and number I'll get back to you as soon as I can.”

_Beep_

“Hey, this is Blaine Hummel-Anderson. I'm not available at the moment, but if you leave your name and number I'll get back to you as soon as I can.”

_Beep_

“Blaine...”

_Beep_

“Hey, this is Blaine Hummel-Anderson. I'm not available at the moment, but if you leave your name and number I'll get back to you as soon as I can.”

_Beep_

“Pick up your goddamn phone Blaine!”

_Beep_

“Hey, this is Blaine Hummel-Anderson. I'm not available at the moment, but if you leave your name and number I'll get back to you as soon as I can.”

_Beep_

“Hey, this is Blaine Hummel-Anderson. I'm not-”

_Beep_

“Hey, this is Blaine Hummel-Anderson. I'm not available at the moment, but if you leave your name and number I'll get back to you as soon as I can.”

_Beep_

“Please. Please.”

_Beep_

“Hey, this is Blaine Hummel-Anderson. I'm not available at the moment, but if you leave your name and number I'll get back to you as soon as I can.”

_Beep_

**

May 27, 2025

“ _Hey, bello! Guess who?_

_I know you're probably confused and, hey, this might seem a bit morbid, but I absolutely had to be here for your thirtieth. Who else is going to tell you that you still look as sexy as you did at nineteen?_

_You know how you were always the one who planned everything out in our relationship, and always complained about how I never pulled my weight? Well, this time it's my turn. Because guess what? I have a plan. A wonderful plan, if I do say so myself._

_I've written you letters. Not as many as I wanted, but probably more than you'll expect. Letters that'll be coming to you in all sorts of mysterious ways. I wanted to start earlier, but I figured you might not be up for some of the things I ask you to do for a while._

_There's only one condition to the letters: you have to do absolutely everything they say. Deal?_

_Come on, Kurt. Relinquish control for once! Deal?_

_Your first letter will be coming tomorrow. Please, do me a favor and don't try and figure out how I'm doing this. It's just too complex and it'll ruin everything. Just, sit back and let me take care of you for a little bit longer. You know how much I love doing that._

_Now, because I know you I know you'll want to sit around all day and wait for my letter, but I don't want you to do that. Go out! Put on that nice lavender shirt and your Louis Vuitton skinnies – you know, the ones that make your ass look fantastic. Celebrate your birthday as it was meant to be celebrated. Get drunk. Flirt with boys! Not too many boys though. Santana, make sure he doesn't flirt with too many boys!_

_Have fun, Kurt. For me._

_I love you.”_

**

May 28, 2025

Dear Kurt,

I'm sure my not being around hasn't stopped you from stubbing your toe every time you go to turn off the light. Do yourself a favor and buy a bedside lamp. I don't know why we never did that.

Now, I know you never need encouraging to do this, but I want you to go buy yourself a nice outfit. Something sleek, flashy. You know what I mean. Buy something that would make me want to maul you before we even go out. You'll know why when my next letter comes.

And hey, about your job. I know you hate it, and I know it's not what you want to do for the rest of your life. I've always known that. You're better than being a lame real estate agent. Don't do anything drastic, but keep your eyes open. I'll send you a sign.

P.S. I love you

**

June 13, 2025

Dear Kurt,

Do you remember that time we went to Callbacks? That was back before we got married wasn't it, still engaged, still young and stupid. Rachel and I sang all night long, I remember, but you kept refusing to get on that stage. It was driving me crazy because I know what a beautiful voice you have, and I just wanted you to share it with the rest of the world (or, the fifty odd people in the bar). You said you hadn't warmed up, or some other lame excuse.

Oh, darling, if I'd known how the night would end I would have never made you get up on that stage. I mean, you do have to admit that it's a little funny that you would break your nose and almost break your neck because of a loose wire, but that's not what I'm talking about.

I haven't heard you sing since that night, bello, and I hate knowing that it's because of me. I wish I would have known back then that all my egging on would be the cause of your last performance. Or, at least the last one I would ever hear.

But Kurt, your voice is a gift. You sound so beautiful when you sing. Oh, hell, you always sound beautiful, but when you sing it's like a cloud has parted in the sky and angels are among us. That might sound corny, but it's the honest truth. Just the memory of your voice makes my heart want to fly.

I want you to go back there, Kurt. I want you to put on that snazzy outfit you bought last month, I want you to take Rachel and Santana back to Callbacks and I want you to get on that stage and sing to your hearts desire. I want you to show the world (or the fifty odd people in the bar) just how amazing and talented you are. I want you to remind yourself why you loved singing as much as you used to.

Make sure you dedicate a song to me.

P.S. I love you.

**

July 4, 2025

Dear Kurt,

As I write this I am perfectly aware that what I am about to ask you to do will be the hardest thing you have ever done. That being said, I need you to promise me that you will actually go through with it. You owe it to me, Kurt. You promised you would do everything I asked!

You know those mustard pants of mine that you always loved to borrow? I want you to have those. They've practically been yours since we moved in together anyhow. Wear them until they're so worn out you can't even put them on without them falling apart. Don't be afraid of them, bello, they were meant to be worn.

The rest of my things though, you don't need them. I give you permission to go through everything of mine and pick out a grand total of three items (bow ties count as an entire item, you sneaky bastard) to keep, but everything else you can throw away. No, let me rephrase that. I insist that you throw it away. Throw it all away! (Or give it to goodwill. You don't want to waste perfectly good clothing after all).

That apartment is too small to be cluttered up with my things. In fact, I'm going to expand and say go through more than just my clothes, go through everything that was mine and get rid of it. Three articles of clothes and three keepsakes of everything else, that's the most I'm going to allow you.

I know you love me Kurt, I don't need you to hold on to my things forever to prove it. You're not helping yourself by keeping that junk around. Make some space for new things. Buy a bigger TV! No, don't buy a bigger TV. You'll put your hip out bringing it up the stairs (because you're thirty now, so you're old. Get the joke? Come on, bello, don't make that face.)

If it's too difficult for you, ask a friend for help. I'm sure Santana and Rachel can spare a day off to help you out.

I'll always be with you, Kurt, even if my things aren't. Don't ever forget that.

P.S. I love you

**

August 22, 2025

Dear Kurt,

I have a surprise for you! I just got back from a meeting with a booking agency and guess where you're going? That's right! Beautiful Italy, the place of my forefathers, the land of wine and romance. The place where we met.

I got you two extra tickets so you can take Rachel and Santana with you, I know they've always wanted to go (keep a leash on Santana though. Those Italian model's won't even know what hit them).

The only thing I ask is that while you're there you visit my parents. I swear they don't actually hate you (unlike your dad, who actually hates me), and it would mean the world to me.

P.S. I love you

**

August 24, 2025

Dear Santana,

Welcome to Italy, mamacita!

I need you to do something for me. I need you to make sure my bello has a good time while you're there. You know how he is, he'll get in one of his moods and will only go out kicking and screaming. Take him to a bar. Buy him some real Italian pizza (and yourself some, for that matter!) Make sure he remembers that holiday calories don't count.

Now I know you're going to hate me for this, but I do want you to know that I miss you, wherever I am. Yeah, yeah, quit the sap Anderson. Here's five euros to make up for it. Buy yourself a drink, or a cigar, or something. Enjoy Italy! After all, this is the last time you're going to be getting anything free out of me. I wonder if you could put that on my grave stone? Blaine Hummel-Anderson, paying for Santana Lopez's shit even from beyond the grave.

Sorry. Bad joke.

Seriously though. Have fun, and make sure Kurt does as well.

Kisses from the beyond,

Blaine

**

August 24, 2025

Dear Rachel,

My sister from another mister! I don't even need to tell you how much I'm going to miss your face, your voice, your everything. Did Kurt sing like I asked him to? If he didn't I need you to make sure he starts up again. You know better than anyone how important music can be.

Here's my instructions to you: take Kurt on a gondola ride. He'll protest, say something about what the water will do to his skin, but make him do it anyway. I know he'll enjoy it.

Keep your hands to yourself, though, missy! I know you, and if you ever screwed around with some hunky Italian guy behind Finn's back I won't hesitate to haunt the crap out of you. Feel free to look, god knows there is plenty to look at where you are, just don't touch! I'm serious about the haunting.

I love you, baby cakes,

Blaine.

**

August 26, 2025

Dear Kurt,

If you're reading this, you should know that I am the happiest ghost in heaven (or wherever you believe I am). Thank you for coming to visit my parents, mi amore. I know it means the world to them.

So, I'm guessing my parents told you all about this tree house you're probably sitting in. I built it with my father and my brother when I was younger, and for the longest time it was my safe place. I spent so much time up here, sometimes alone, sometimes with Coop, sometimes with whoever was my closest friend at the time. I always felt like I could conquer the world from up here.

It's where I came after I met you. Do you remember that day? The heat was absolutely terrible, and you were wearing so many layers I thought you might faint from the heat. Not even the shade from the Parco Nazionale helped, and yet you refused to take a single article of clothing off.

We must have looked an odd pair, you and I. You, in your eight million layers, and I in nothing but a pair of ratty old jeans and a faded leather jacket. Remember that old thing? I used to think I was such a badass, didn't I? The crazy Italian playboy who seduced the innocent American. That's what I made it sound like, to my friends, did you know? I really was an idiot when we met. Thank god you straightened me out (although not literally, thank god).

Sometimes I wonder what might have happened if I hadn't gone for a walk through the Parco that day. It was blistering out, it makes no sense that I would want to go out to begin with. What if I'd listened to my head and just... stayed inside? Would we have still met at the bar later that week? Would you have even noticed me beyond being that lame guy standing up on stage playing a strange rock-and-roll rendition of Teenage Dream? Would I have notice you, picked you out in the crowd as I did, if I didn't already know your beautiful face, if I hadn't already memorized the feel of your lips?

I did go out, though. I did go for a walk, and I did meet you stranded out in the middle of a forest, looking so lost I wanted to cuddle you close, take you home to my parents and ask if I could keep you. And you said that, the first thing you ever said to me. “I'm lost.” You have to know that you had my heart, right then, right there. Nothing but two words, a furrow between your brows, an adorable scrunched up nose, and I was yours.

Remember how I told you we were going in the same direction, so why shouldn't we just walk together? I lied. I had already been walking for over an hour and the heat was just about enough to make my brain melt out of my ears. I had been just about to turn around when I saw you standing in the middle of the trail. It took me three hours to get back to my house after you left that night, but I have to tell you it was totally worth it. When I got home that night, barely able to feel my legs, I climbed up to my tree house and lay down with the biggest, stupidest grin on my face. I could barely move I was in so much pain, but all I could think about was the sparkle in your eyes and how cute you looked wearing my disgusting leather jacket on top of your eight other shirts and vests. You must have been sweltering, but you never even broke a sweat.

You told me you didn't know what you wanted to do yet, that day. I remember your exact words: “I've always wanted to be on Broadway, but at the same time my love for fashion is unrivalled, and because of my clothing designs I've become a pretty decent artist, which I also adore, but what if being an accountant brings in more money for my future family? I mean, being an artist of any kind is everyone's dream, but the reality is that I want to feed my future children and my future husband. What if it's just not feasible on a struggling actor's salary?”

When I suggested you just marry a rich older man you hit me. Call me a masochist, but I think it just made me fall in love with you more.

You were so full of life back then, Kurt. The world was your oister. I hate thinking of the possibility that my death has made that sparkle in your eyes dim. I know that you've felt weighed down over the years by your decision to go into real estate instead of the arts, but I just want you to know that no matter how hard a day you'd had, no matter how many clients had pissed you off and made you hate the world, no matter how tired you were, to me you always looked just as good as you did that day in the Parco with your seven hundred layers and your wide eyed hopes and dreams.

My friends told me I was an idiot for falling for you so fast, especially when I told them I was hopping on a plane to the States so we could be together. They said the feeling would pass, that it was just an infatuation. My parents warned me you would break my heart. Funny isn't it, the idea of an innocent American breaking a crazy Italian playboy's heart.

You didn't though. You held my heart tightly in your hands and you cherished it, you nurtured it, you made it come alive. Not only that, but you gave me the honor and the privilege of holding your heart as well.

I'm so glad I got to keep you, bello.

You know when people say “I will love you until the day I die?”

I did.

P.S. I still, and will always, love you.

**

September 16, 2025

Dear Kurt,

Alright, enough is enough. Quit that stupid job of yours, I know you hate it, I know it makes you miserable, and I know you've only been dragging yourself there every other week anyway.

You'll be okay for a few weeks without a steady income. Find something you really love, something that makes you excited to get up every morning and _do it!_  Give it everything you have. You'll find everything seems brighter when you're enjoying every day.

Remember how I told you I'd give you a sign? Keep looking.

P.S. I love you.

**

October 29, 2025

Dear Kurt,

I've enclosed in this envelope five different kinds of seeds. I know you've always wanted a garden, and I figure that now the days are getting shorter it's time you start one. Put some light in your life.

Can you do something else for me? I want you to go out and buy that cat we always wanted. Just don't get a white one, it'll shed everywhere. And promise you won't name it something stupid like Dior, or Prada. You're better than that. Be creative. Love it like you loved me.

I've got to go now, I can hear you struggling with the lock. Keep the cat away from the plants!

P.S. I love you.

**

November 8, 2025

Dear Kurt,

I'm writing this as you sleep, and I have to tell you that you look absolutely stunning. It's as if all of your cares have disappeared, like nothing at all matters.

I'm sending this to you on this specific day because it's the day we slept together for the first time. I'm writing it on a November 8th as well, although whether you will get this a year from when I'm writing this or two is up to the enormous lump growing on my brain.

It was exactly three months after we'd met. I remember you didn't want us to sleep together for so long because it was your first time and you wanted to get to know me better before we took that first step. I really hope I wasn't too obnoxious about the entire situation, and if I was I apologize. You know how I was at nineteen: stupid, hot head, thought wearing leather jackets was cool. I'm so glad you brought the real me back out.

That night was so perfect, Kurt. You looked so beautiful under all those candles you lit; your skin was practically glowing. You have to know that you made me the happiest man in the world when you called me that morning asking to come over and to 'bring supplies' because you were ready. I couldn't even be embarrassed when I went out to buy the condoms and lube, I just smiled at the cashier and said, “I'm going to have sex with my future husband for the first time tonight.” She probably thought I was crazy. Hell, I'm sure that if you had been there you would have thought I was crazy as well. Maybe I was.

Crazy in love.

(You'd better turn Beyonce on right now Kurt Hummel-Anderson)

I'm sorry for being such a sap in this letter. It's just... I found out today that the tumor is getting bigger, and I thought that maybe, just maybe, it was finally time to tell you. But then I got home and you'd put rose petals everywhere, and you'd lit candles, and basically made everything look exactly like it had that night nine years ago. I just couldn't. I'm weak. Immune to your wiles. And like I've said before, I didn't want our last few months to be tainted. Can you really blame me for wanting at least one last perfect night?

I hope it isn't our last night. I really do. But if it is, I want you to know that this was without a doubt the best night of my life. Better even than the first time (even though that night was pretty spectacular as well).

It looks like you're going to wake up. Did I tell you already that you look beautiful?

P. S. I love you.

**

December 19, 2025

Dear Kurt,

If you thought the last letter was cheesy, get ready for a whole new level. But hey, at least I have an excuse this time?

The thing is, bello, that this is the last letter I'm going to write you. You have no idea how much I've enjoyed writing them all to you and imagining how you will react to receiving them. I'm sorry I wasn't around to witness it.

This letter is so far the hardest to write, even though I've known what I was going to say since the idea first popped in my head. Because you see, this letter doesn't involve any requests to buy lamps or go to a karaoke bar, nor does it involve some cheesy walk down memory lane.

I wanted to use this letter to remind you of how much you mean to me. I know I've ended every letter with I love you, and told you throughout my letters some of the reasons for that, but I don't feel like I've ever done my feelings justice. Because the honest truth is that what I feel for you has always been more than the simple feeling of love. In fact, just telling you I love you has never seemed enough. I wish there was a bigger word to truly describe what I'm trying to convey.

You changed my life, Kurt. I know you never really believed me when I said that, or thought I was being cruel and saying it in a bad way, but it's the honest truth. You changed my life in the best way possible. When I met you, I was a stupid nineteen year old, stuck in a rut, doing nothing but play in a shitty band at a shitty bar on weekends. I thought I was so cool, flirting with as many guys as would let me, drinking myself into stupors I couldn't afford. I didn't let myself see how empty my life was.

Then in walked you. In your many layers, and your unknown dreams, you wormed your way into my heart so fast I could barely even breath. I know I already told you, but I loved you the moment I met you, and I haven't stopped loving you in the nine years since.

Nine years. It sounds so short, doesn't it. I can't believe I only got nine years with you. At the same time, though, I'm glad. Because nine years with you is better than a lifetime without.

Meeting you, following to America, letting you peel me back layer by layer until all that was left was small, raw, exposed me has been the best thing that's ever happened to me. I can never thank you enough for allowing me to spend these past nine years loving you.

But here's the thing Kurt: my time is passed. You may have been my entire life, but I'm only a short chapter in yours. I'm not saying you should forget about me, I actually selfishly hope you never do. I'm just saying you shouldn't let the rest of your life be defined by the loss of your husband.

Don't be afraid to do things, Kurt. Don't be afraid to live. Meet new people, make new friends, fall in love again. Just because my clock stopped ticking doesn't mean that yours should as well.

Forever yours,

Blaine Hummel-Anderson

P.S. I will never, ever, for the rest of eternity, stop loving you.

**

January 1, 2026

Dear Blaine,

I've been wanting to write a reply to every letter you've sent me, but every time I picked up a pen to write one I couldn't find any words. It's almost been eight months, it's a new year, and I feel like I'm finally ready.

I know we always joked about my dad hating you, and I know that he made you feel that way even as you were planning all of this (I still can't believe he was in cahoots with you the whole time!), but he did like you. I know he did, because you made me happy. God, Blaine, words cannot describe how happy you made me.

On my birthday, when I received that first message from you I just didn't know what to do. I was still getting used to the fact that you were gone and suddenly I had a giant cheesecake with the words “Happy birthday bello, love Blaine” on it and a tape recorder playing me your voice as if you were standing right in front of me.

I was so mad at you, Blaine. That night I went to a club with Rachel and Santana, and every time a guy so much as looked in my direction I burst out crying. I thought of you, every single time. Remember that game we used to play? Where we'd go to a bar, separate, and then you'd come over and hit on me with the lamest, cheesiest pick up lines you could think of? A guy used one of them on me that night. Oh, what was it... Oh yeah! “I lost my phone number, can you give me yours?” He probably wasn't expecting to suddenly find himself with an armful of weepy widower, that's for sure.

Widower. It's taken me a long time to accept that that's what I am. I'm a widower, Blaine. I'm your widower.

Even eight months later it still makes me ache.

I did everything you asked me to do Blaine. I went to that goddamn karaoke bar and made a fool of myself by bursting into tears on stage. It still beats the last time we went, doesn't it? At least I didn't end up in the hospital this time.

You know what song I sang? Teenage Dream. I could see Rachel and Santana shaking their heads at me from the audience, but I couldn't stop myself. You're my teenage dream Blaine, and I wanted everyone in that bar to know it.

I know you said you sent me there because you wanted me to start singing again, but I couldn't help but wonder if maybe you wanted to remind me of a bad memory so that I wouldn't miss you so much. I know that's not the reason, I know you honestly just wanted to get me singing because you'd been pestering me for the last four years of my life about it, but I just have to say that if that had been your intention it didn't work. I missed you so much that night Blaine. I always miss you, but that night was...

You were in the crowd that night. Actually, you were the crowd. As I was singing I could only see you. Sitting at the same table you sat at last time, smiling up at me, eyes twinkling even in the dark, telling me how beautiful my voice was even after all those years. Did I mention I burst into tears halfway through the song?

The trip to Italy was the worst. I saw you in every corner. We went to that bar you used to play at, back when you were a “struggling” artist. Do you remember that bar? Of course you do, how could you forget it. It was so old and disgusting, I don't think the smell of stale beer will ever leave my nose.

I met a guy there, Blaine. I met him the same way I met you (well, for the second time at least). He was playing, and he was wonderful, and during his break Santana convinced me to go talk to him. I felt nineteen again, stumbling through loud strangers who didn't speak my language, trying and failing to come across as a mature, experienced man. We talked for a long time, and when he went back on stage he dedicated a song to me.

Do you know what song it was?

Fucking goddamn Teenage Dream.

I couldn't get out of there fast enough, Blaine. All I could see was you bouncing around on that stage, singing at the top of your lungs, jumping off the stage and following me through the crowd. Your hair was so crazy back then, honey. Long and wild, perfect for burying my fingers in. That was that night, wasn't it? Our fourth kiss, if I remember correctly. You took me backstage and pressed me up against a wall. That was the most exhilarating moment of my life.

He was there the next day. The guy I met. Santana, Rachel and I got stranded on a boat in the middle of a river. You don't know this (or maybe you do), but Rachel and Finn are having a baby. She's due next month. And Santana's getting married! Can you believe it? They told me all of that while we were stranded on that stupid boat in the middle of that stupid river, and I just wanted to scream. How was it fair that their lives were just starting while mine had ended? My husband died and they were living the life I'd always wanted.

Why didn't we ever have a baby, Blaine? Why did we keep putting it off? Why couldn't I pull my damn head out of my ass long enough to realize all the experiences we wouldn't be able to have?

The guy came to save us. He road up in his boat, and smiled at me and asked if this was where I'd run off to so fast that night. He stayed for dinner, and I was such a mess that night Blaine, you have to believe me. Rachel and Santana were so happy, all excited about these new chapters of their lives and I was still sleeping in your shirts every night. I was in a really bad place.

I slept with him, Blaine. I did, I slept with him, and the entire time I felt like the worst human being on the face of the earth. He was so nice too, so sweet when I told him to go slow because it had been a while, and even then all I could think about was that you weren't the only man I'd been with anymore. And I know that it's stupid but it felt like I was cheating on you. When it was over all I wanted to do was curl up into a ball and cry, but he pulled me close and held me, which just made me feel even worse.

You held me so tightly, Blaine. Every night. I always felt so safe in your arms. I know I complained about you feeling like a thousand degrees, but oh I would give anything just for you to hold me one more time.

The worst part came after. I mentioned that the reason I hadn't been with anyone in a while was because my husband had recently passed, and when he asked me to tell him about you he recognized you. He was in your band, Blaine. Sebastian Smythe, do you remember him? He was playing with you that night we met. He heard you were gone, but didn't really believe it. I felt so disgusting, Blaine, you have no idea. He... He was your best childhood friend, and there I was, your widower, lying naked beside him as if it was alright. As if it was normal.

He told me so many stories about you that night. He told me about the time your dog ran away and you spent all night looking for it. He told me about how you forced him to kiss you, just so you could be sure that you were actually gay, and then insisted you loved him for all of a week after. He told me how you used to talk about me, Blaine. How the day after the bar you went to his house and told him I was the one, that you were done screwing around, you knew what you wanted in life: to be my husband.

It was the strangest moment of my life. Sitting in the arms of another man, stark naked, hearing things about you that I'd never heard.

It was like falling in love with you all over again.

I don't know if I'll ever see Sebastian again; maybe when I go to Italy next. Because I am going again. My dad told me about my mom, about how much she used to make him laugh. I want to see him laugh again, and what better place to take him than the place where I truly learnt to laugh myself?

I quit my job. Well, actually I was fired. I got into an argument with one of the people I was selling a house to, which isn't really conducive to making a sale.

You told me you would send me a sign, remember? And you did. That night I bumped into our dresser and one of your suspender clips fell onto my shoe. (I found the clip under the bed about a month after you left me. Remember that night? I know we fought harder than we've ever fought, but that is still one of my best memories of you. Sometimes, when I hear that lame-ass song on the radio, I picture you in our room, doing that ridiculous strip tease only to snap your suspender and get whacked in the eye with the clip. I heard the song on the radio the other day, and for the first time in a year I didn't cry. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing)

I've gone back into fashion. It started with shoes, but I've expanded since. I work at a boutique downtown, making custom dresses and suits for those rich enough to afford it. And guess what? I'm putting 25% of every paycheck into a savings account. I'm saving up to buy my own apartment. I can't live here anymore Blaine, I just can't.

I don't know if I'm going to be able to move on any time soon. I know you told me to, but sleeping with Sebastian almost destroyed me and I just don't think I'm ready yet.

There's this one guy, Adam. He is... god, he's beyond obnoxious, but he's been so good to me. He takes me places, buys me nice things. He's always smiling which drives me crazy because it reminds me of you. You were always smiling Blaine, no matter what. I remember when you broke your foot and you still couldn't keep that smile of your face.

I thought Adam and I might have something, but we kissed the other night and there was simply nothing there. I hope we can stay friends though. He really has been good to me through everything. I wish you could meet him, Blaine. You would love him.

You once told me you knew you still loved me because every day you woke up and the first thing you wanted to see was my face. I still feel that. Every morning I wake up and for one peaceful, blissful second I don't remember. For one single moment everything is as it should be. And every morning I have to be reminded over and over again that I'm never going to see your face again. You're never going to smile at me again, you're never going to call me bello again (I still listen to that tape you sent me on birthday, just to hear you say it), you're never going to wake me up with kisses and breakfast in bed, you're never going to tell me I'm overreacting, or make fun of me for getting older.

I'm never going to stop missing you for as long as live.

P. S.

Guess what?


End file.
